Zeus
by MicaMeesha
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Incest Sex Story: Zeus kills his father and becomes king of the gods, taking his sister to bed as his wife
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Incest Brother Sister .
The sky was a bright and deep blue with not a cloud to be seen. Flowers were in full bloom and bees buzzed around, and being immortal bees, they avoided stinging anyone; it just wasn’t their thing. The plants were spread all around and amongst the beautiful marble and gold buildings of Olympus; the birds flew, carefully ensuring their droppings only landed in the flower borders, and to anyone looking in, it was a perfectly beautiful day.
Cronos, however, was not having a beautiful day; no, he was having a bad day. His youngest son, Zeus, was being particularly petulant and moaning about how his life sucked, and Zeus always seemed to be able to get his sister Hera to back him up, and Hera would nag him too. It was getting just too much, and his wife, Rhea, kept saying that it was just a phase he was going through. ‘Give him some slack’, she would say. Cronos decided that no, enough was enough, and that Zeus would come to heel and do as he was told.
“Zeus,” he yelled, “get in here.”
Hera was in her chamber enjoying Prometheus; they both lay naked on her bed, their clothes discarded to the sides of the bed, Prometheus’ softening dick still inside Hera, his seed beginning to dribble out and puddle on the bed. Hera was stroking Prometheus’ face when she heard her father yelling.
“Oh God, I suppose I better go and see what that is about,” she said, extricating herself. With a wave of her fingers, her crotch was clean, and with another, her clothes adorned her.
“See you later, lover,” she said as she headed off to discover the reason for the yelling by her father.
Cronos knew that no matter where Zeus was, he would hear his words; it was the way of the gods, and they were indeed gods. He started counting, and if Zeus were not in front of him before he counted to ten, then there would be hell to pay and he would banish him from Olympus and send him back to Crete.
Just as he was about to raise his blood and thunder as ten was reached, Zeus strolled into the Pantheon as if nothing mattered in the world. Zeus was wearing a shirt of bold-coloured patterns with palm trees and coconuts and shorts of the same pattern but contrasting colours. Gold-rimmed sunglasses covered his eyes. Cronos, of course, was wearing the correct attire for the king of the gods, a white toga embellished with golden threads and finished, properly, with leather sandals and upon his head a throne of laurel leaves, freshly woven that day.
“Wassup, pops?” Zeus drawled in his lazy tongue.
“Wassup, wassup? What the fuck kind of language is that? You are the son of a God, not the illegitimate splurge of some back-street pleasure girl in Heraklion.” Cronos, already incandescent with rage, was now absolutely volcanic.
“Oh, chill, Dad.” Not exactly the wisest choice of words to say at just that very moment.
“Chill! Chill!” Cronus’ rage grew, and he flew at Zeus as if to strike him, but Zeus, in a moment of absolute clarity, thrust his arm up, and all Cronos struck was the upturned blade of Zeus’ hunting blade.
Cronos stumbled to his knees, his face full of shock as he looked down at the knife embedded in his chest, blood impossibly seeping from the wound. Zeus just looked at him, his eyes full of scorn. Immortals could be killed by immortals, and Zeus had been drinking at the fountain of mortal souls, and he too now sported the immortal blessings.
“Sick of you old man and your posturing and shouting. Can’t hear you shouting now.”
Zeus took a drinking straw from the gold and marble table at his side and leant forward, placing the straw on the forehead of his father, put his lips around it and sucked out his father’s soul. The straw glowed with white light, and briefly there was an aura around Zeus as Cronos fell soulless to the floor, looking sorrowfully at his son as the mortal life left until Cronos lay dead on the floor.
“Oh my God, what have you done,” Hera screamed as she rushed into the room, expecting to have to calm Cronos down as per usual. Now she was looking at his lifeless corpse. That stopped her; she believed him immortal, but to see a knife in his chest and blood seeping from around it confounded that belief. Were immortals not actually immortal? Interesting.
“I am the King of the Gods now,” Zeus said, standing tall, his arms aloft, “we will have no more of his brutality to his children and pampering to the mortals; now I am in charge. Call my brothers; I will speak with them.”
Hera rushed from the room and found her siblings and ushered them into the great hall of the Pantheon, where they were greeted with the sight of their lifeless and bloodied father and a triumphant younger brother standing over him.
“I am the King of the Gods, brothers; the tyrant is dead.” He paused and looked at his siblings, and then his face changed to one of command rather than triumph.
“Together, brothers, we will rule these realms. Poseidon, you shall rule the seas; Hades, you shall be the ruler of the underworld and guardian of the dead; together we shall rule the lands.”
“What of me?” Hera, his sister, asked, “What am I to do?”
“You shall be my queen.”
That pleased Hera, firstly because she had a massive yearning for her younger brother, and secondly because she believed that she could be the power behind his throne. She looked at her brother and mentally undressed him, liking what she saw.
“Caution, Zeus,” Prometheus cautioned as he entered the room, having overheard from without, “caution lest you fall foul of the same sickness that took your father.”
“You dare caution me, Prometheus? You dare? I banish you to the cliffs of Olympus, where eagles shall feast on your liver until the end of time.” Zeus flicked his fingers, and Prometheus vanished; only a pile of his clothes remained.
“Does anyone else have anything to add?” He asked.
“Well,” Hades said, “I have nothing more to add; I shall go and see to the Underworld.”
“Don’t forget to ensure that we get a steady supply of souls; we shall need at least one each per day, Hades.”
“Of course, my Lord, I shall collect Charon on my way; he can be my ferryman across the Styxx.”
Poseidon looked at Zeus and bowed. “Thank you, brother; you have bestowed upon me a great privilege. I shall not let you down.”
“No, brother, you shall not. Now go and tend to your waves, and forget not that you are also the Earthshaker. Use your responsibilities wisely, remembering too, that I need a steady supply of souls.”
“Fear not, brother, fear not.”
The room grew quiet with only Hera and Zeus now present. Zeus waved his fingers, and the doors shut and locked; they were truly alone.
“Well, my King,” Hera said as they circled each other.
“My Queen, shall we consecrate the union?”
“I am counting the moments.”
Hera was wearing a translucent gown of the finest white silk with golden embroidery, draped across her body, accentuating her stature, yet almost, but not quite, obscuring her curves. The silk clung in ways beguiling to man, and even though Zeus was no man, he was a Titan; he was beguiled by his sister’s beauty. He had secretly watched her as she bathed; he had seen her hidden beauty, and he wanted that for himself, for no other man would be allowed to possess her – she was his.
He flicked his fingers to remove her vestments; she flicked hers to make them remain.
“No, brother, my revealing shall not be at your behest, but at my doing,” she said, a smile across her lips.
Hera reached up and undid a clasp at her shoulder. The silk began to slide and slip down her body, revealing her breasts to him and then the cleft of her sex. Zeus could not help but lick his lips; she was the most beautiful being he had ever seen, and he needed to possess her, to fill her with his seed.
Hera circled Zeus, and behind her back she flicked her fingers, and Zeus stood naked before her, his dick hard and perfectly proportioned to fill her. His balls hung heavy below; a prize possession should he be vanquished, but that was not for today. Today that would be Cronos’ final humiliation, his balls cast into the sea. But first, there was Zeus, alive, living and here.
Hera moved to the bed and sat first on the edge and then lay back and turned to lie lengthways, ready for her new lover, her right knee raised, effectively obscuring her treasure from him. Zeus approached and examined her, first from her head and then casting his eyes across her breasts, her stomach and finally her crease, her thigh lowering and legs parting to reveal more as she saw where his eyes were focused. She knew that she was irresistible; cousin Prometheus had proven that. He had been determined that he wouldn’t succumb to her wiles, but he had.
Zeus bent forward and inhaled her ambrosia, drawing in deep breaths from her yoni, his desire growing almost beyond his comprehension. His tongue darted forward, diving between her folds, and he tasted her nectar. His breath was held in his throat; she was beyond comparison, she had no equal.
As his tongue pressed between her folds, Hera gasped, the pleasure beyond what she had expected. Was it his Godly presence, or his Kingly touch? She didn’t know, but her pleasures began to ramp up and her pressures grew. Her fingers dug deep into the mattress, holding her body tight as she began to writhe in pleasure, her sleeve readying to take the Kingly dick inside her, him thinking it was to pleasure himself, her knowing he would pleasure her.
Zeus ran his tongue from her nubbin to her entrance, beyond, pressing her crinkle before his tongue pushed back past her entrance, her taste divine, beyond the beloved honey of her bees. His dick pulsed and wanted attention; it would wait. His tongue was consumed with her pleasures, her treasure open before him, welcoming, drawing him in, almost overwhelming, almost, but not quite; he was the King, he could not be whelmed.
His tongue danced around her anus, a pleasure for her so rarely enjoyed; he dallied but not for long, his tongue moving and then pressing at her fanny opening, her juices flowing into his mouth, his finger pressing insistently at her nubbin, her electrics charging, increasing, and her body fizzing as her pressures built. He knew what he was doing, but so did she, and she tensed her muscles, her petals tickling his nose as they rippled.
Zeus’ mouth moved up and covered her nubbin, opening and then sucking in her entire mound, his tongue lapping at her nubbin, teasing it from her hood as his fingers moved down and found her entrance, passing her petals and burying themselves deep within her.
Hera gasped, and her breath held as his fingers explored within her, his fingernails running across her bumps and ripples, scratching at her little spot within, her pressures almost at blowing point, as her arousal grew with each movement of his fingers and his tongue. He pulled back for a moment, and she seized her chance, diving away from him and throwing him onto his back, her mouth ready to wreak its own delights.
Hera took his Kingly dick in her hand and pulled his foreskin down his shaft; the strip of skin attaching it taut and white. Her tongue ran around the edge of his glans, licking, teasing and then pressing at the small hole in the end of his dick. The King of the Gods held his breath as Hera took his pleasure to new levels, his breath halting, his chest heaving as he sought to maintain control; she was surely testing his mettle.
Zeus felt heat as Hera engulfed his dick; the wetness of her mouth as it covered his glans took the depth of his pleasures to a new level. He had been sucked and fucked before; he was no innocent God, however Hera was taking him to new territories; he was pleased with his choice of a Queen.
He looked down and watched her head moving above his groin, his dick sliding in and out of her throat as easily as if it were a fanny. Her skills were unquestionable; how had she learned them? He cared not; her exclusivity to him started now. He would simply castrate any of her previous lovers were he to identify them. He recalled that when he was finished with Hera, he needed to cut off his father’s balls and cast them into the sea, but that could wait; his own balls were active and would soon be producing their seed.
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